Millenia
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: HELLFIRE #2: Newt visits again, and he has a new favor to ask of Minho.


-Millenia-

-short, I know. Bear with me; this series is starting out a bit slow. I'm glad for all the reviews on Hellfire and the support I keep getting from my amazing readers. Tell me what you think about this little demon!Newt and Minho story ;)-

Newt came to him again three weeks later. Long enough for Minho to nearly forget about the whole event. At first, he was disappointed. But really, why should he be disappointed? By not being visited again by a demon? It made absolutely no sense. Then, he began to feel doubtful. What if the whole thing had been some strange dream? (Nightmare. He tried a million times to convince himself that he found it to be a nightmare.) So, he tried to forget. He moved on.

There were enough things to take up his time with anyway: homework, school, track, friends, family outings. His parents' business meetings were becoming more and more frequent. Sometimes, Minho could go through a whole day with just a quick "hello," in the morning, followed by a hasty goodbye just before they left. The Park's were doing well. They led a wealthy life. But they didn't even know their son. Minho told himself he didn't care. He found other ways to fill his time without his parents around. There were a lot of things he could do to distract himself, home alone.

Anything to distract himself from these awful, feverish thoughts of Newt.

The demon plagued him night and day in his thoughts, his dreams, and his daydreams. Take right now, for instance. He was in his room at the moment, changing after getting home from track practice. Downstairs, he could hear the metal clattering and light voice of his mother in the kitchen; she was cooking dinner, on a rare night when her husband had gone into the business alone to give her a night off. She was humming some song. Minho was hardly hearing her though. He had only one thing on his mind: Newt Newt Newt.

Newt's wild hair.

Newt's Cheshire smile.

Newt's silver voice.

Stop it! he ordered himself sternly. He's a demon! And you stupidly invited him back into you life! Stop thinking about him, you should be glad he never showed up.

He shook his head, as though pushing the thoughts away, as he pulled on a pair of jeans. On the dark gray sheets of his bed was a long-sleeved, black shirt. Shrugging out of the black-and-blue Glade High Track Team tee, he snagged the shirt from his bed. "He's a shucking demon," he muttered, shoving his arms through the sleeves. "He'd probably kill you once he was done with you anyway." Pulling the shirt over his head, he bundled up the discarded clothes and tossed them into the hamper next to the door. An unpleasant coiling had started in his stomach at that last thought.

What if Newt did decide to—to murder Minho, once he was finished with this game of his? He was from Hell, after all. It wasn't like he had a conscious, or cared about people, or had any feelings.

Swallowing, Minho strode to his desk at the opposite wall from his bed. He sat on the edge of it and stared down at his socks. It bothered him that Newt might not have feelings at all. It shucking BOTHERED him. WHY? He speared his fingers through his hair, making an ebony mess of it. "I hate him. I hate him."

"Keep saying it. It'll become true eventually."

Minho's head jerked up at that captivating voice. "N—Newt?" he stuttered in shock.

"Hello, Minho." The demon lolled carelessly on Minho's bed, as though he'd been there the whole time. Head propped up on a pillow and one leg bent at the knee, he looked like a lazy prince. His clothing had changed; he still wore his black slacks with the shining shoes, but he now had an old-style-looking, white shirt. Half of the buttons were undone and Minho was stupidly enraptured by the silken, pale skin.

Stop staring! Words. Yes, words, he should start saying them. "What?" was all he could say. His brain seemed to have shorted out at the moment.

Newt raised an eyebrow. "I said, hello, Minho," he replied patiently. "Unless there's something else you'd rather be called?" The corner of his mouth threatened to turn up.

"N—no, that's fine," Minho stammered. He couldn't get past how Newt said his name, like it was poetry.

"Very well, then."

"I...Yeah."

Lifting one arm in a gracefully lazy motion, Newt held his fingers up to the light; the nails were now deep indigo instead of jet-black. "Tell me, human, what's been happening in your world while I was away?" he asked casually.

Minho found that he was grasping the edge of the desk behind him, but he didn't know if it was from fear or to hold himself back from kissing Newt like a crazy person. "Um. School, I guess. Track. Er...I'm sorry, why do you care?"

The sharpness in his question made Newt's eyes go from night-blue to pale ice, just for a second. "Sweet thing, you wound me," he cooed, placing a hand over his heart in feigned hurt. "It's not very polite to use such a tone with a demon."

Minho lowered his eyes in what he thought would pass as respect. "I'm just confused," he mumbled.

"Confused?"

"Why're you here? Why didn't you come back sooner?"

"The universe," Newt answered slowly, pushing his mussed, golden bangs off his forehead, "is a very crowded place. I've been kept away by other monsters and dark deals and vices."

Jealousy bit at Minho with sharp fangs. So Newt had been kept away by...other things. Just what sort of vices was he talking about anyway? "Oh. I see."

Newt shifted to better study the human boy, a wicked smile ghosting over his lips. "Oh, darling," he purred. "Jealousy does look so very nice on you."

"I'm not jealous," Minho protested, blushing hotly.

"Don't lie to me, it's no use, really. I may not see all, but I can see that much."

"It's not a shucking lie," Minho argued, out of pure stubbornness now. "Besides, what would I even be jealous of? Some—some other demon or human plaything you picked up?"

Laughter like licking flames came from Newt, jagged teeth flashing in his grin. "Plaything?" he echoed. "You're lucky you amuse me, love, or I'd be much more offended by that."

"Isn't that what I am?" Minho asked. A hint of sadness worked into his voice and he swallowed it down. "Just some plaything?"

Newt didn't answer at first. He was as still as a stone, examining Minho with half-lidded eyes. That stormy gaze roved over Minho from head to toe and back again. Everywhere it touched felt warm and Minho shuddered. He wasn't sure he liked that gaze on him so intensely, like he was prey to be hunted and taken. After a long moment, Newt silently lifted his hand, and Minho knew that he was going to disappear with a snap of his fingers. Relief and panic warred in his heart. "Wait—" he tried, but with a snap, Newt vanished, as quick as a blink.

And reappeared right in front of Minho.

Squeaking in surprise, Minho shoved himself back against his desk, gripping the edge fearfully. A hellish half-grin pulled up the corner of Newt's mouth. He took a slow step forward, bringing himself so close to Minho, that Minho could feel his body heat. The human trembled as Newt cocked his head. "Plaything?" he repeated again, drawing out the syllables until the word sounded filthy in his mouth. "Do you really believe that I would waste my time with such things?"

"I'm sorry." Minho kept glancing up and then down again, unable to hold that intent gaze.

"You're going to be," Newt murmured silkily. With his index finger, he tipped Minho's chin up, until he was forced to look Newt in the eye. The demon's nails were sharpened, like claws, but not long enough to break the skin. "My pet, you are not a plaything to me. Surely you realize that by now."

Minho was still, a mouse caught in a snake's coils. "Then what am I?"

Flaxen hair drifted over Newt's eyes as he blinked slowly. "We shall see, won't we?" he asked, quiet as falling black feathers. Then he was leaning in, and Minho managed a weak "no," before the demon was kissing him.

Newt kissed like fire, burning Minho's mouth with that scorching taste. His lips urged Minho's to part and when they did, he traced his tongue deviously along Minho's teeth. Clawed fingers rested on Minho's chest, then trailed down his body to his sides. Minho whimpered and cradled the back of Newt's neck. There was no way to resist this. No human could ever compare to Newt.

No matter how hard he tried to fight this, Minho wasn't going to be able to escape.

Minho kissed back eagerly and Newt purred into his mouth. "What favor do you owe me this visit?" he asked in a whisper. Pressing their foreheads together, he dodged a kiss and touched his lips to Minho's jaw. "What should I ask of you this time?" The words were unspoken promises on Minho's skin, as he seared a path down along Minho's jaw, to his neck. Teeth scraped over the smooth skin of his throat and Minho curled his fingers into Newt's hair. Nipping gently at Minho's skin, Newt ran his fingertips up Minho's side, drawing his shirt up as he did. He slipped his hands underneath and Minho shivered when a cool touch traveled up his back.

"Thought you just wanted a kiss," he slurred drunkenly, as Newt ran his tongue up Minho's neck to his ear.

Newt chuckled. "Not this time."

He dug his fingertips into Minho's shoulder blades and Minho gasped. Then nails were running down his back and a long mewl of pleasure escaped him. "What d'you want?" he asked breathlessly.

Sinfully playful, Newt lightly bit the curve of Minho's ear. "Everything," he breathed. And his hands were pulling Minho's shirt up his body.

Heartbeat thudding into his ribs, Minho tore himself away from the too-tempting demon. "N—no," he choked out, halting Newt's advances with a light hold on his wrists. His shirt was bunched up on his stomach. "I can't."

The way Newt looked up at him then made his knees threaten to give out: eyes half-lidded with desire, velvet lips flushed from kissing, and hair askew. "Why not?" he asked in an exhale.

Yes, why not, Minho? He's a demon, okay, just get over it and let him have you. But Minho couldn't. He may have been intoxicated with Newt, reeled in by Newt, but he was NOT going to sleep with Newt. He knew that if he went down that road with a creature of Hell, he'd never forgive himself. "Because..." he trailed off, unsure of how to put this into words.

"Let me guess," Newt murmured, releasing Minho's shirt. "It's because I'm a demon. Hell spawn. The Devil's child." He raised an eyebrow. "Right?"

"...yes," Minho admitted.

"You know, as much as He talks big and all, the man upstairs won't damn you if you sin with me." Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Newt's mouth quirked up seductively. "Just once."

Damn him and his overwhelming sexiness. "I can't," Minho repeated helplessly. "It's not about that. It's about me."

"Ah, your precious human morals," Newt replied. "I should've known. Those can be such bothersome things."

"So you won't...force me or anything?"

Newt's eyebrows rose. "Why would I take what I know you'll soon give to me anyway?" he asked ominously.

"You don't know what I'll do," Minho scoffed with forced bravado.

"Don't doubt me," Newt advised, shaking his head with slow pity. "I thought you were more intelligent than that."

"And I thought you forgot about me before you finally showed up. I had a right to doubt you."

"Watch yourself," Newt said softly, and his honeyed voice worked into Minho and made him melt. He froze as Newt stretched up on tiptoe and placed a deliberate, languid kiss on Minho's mouth. As he drew away, he caught Minho's bottom lip, pulling until he had to let go. Minho made a sound, hinting at the moan he was holding back. "I always get what I want," Newt whispered, and his lips widened into his catlike smile. "And, darling, in all of my millennia, I've never wanted like I want you."

Oh yeah. Minho was screwed.


End file.
